Wooden boatbuilding
is considered a lost art today; we live in a world of molds, plugs, fiberglass,
and composites. But newer isn’t always better, as I learned when
I met Noah, who has built a 300-cubit-long (450-foot) vessel dubbed
Noah’s Ark (modest, isn’t he?). He told me Hull No. 1 was
ready to test after the boat had one heck of a shakedown cruise. Although
a slight grounding problem on Mount Ararat in the northeast corner of
Turkey delayed the test until we could get Ark shipped to Miami’s
Government Cut, Noah assured me she would prove seakindly and roomy.

Arriving at the Miami
Beach Marina, I immediately noticed Ark standing out in a sea of
lookalike white fiberglass hulls. Her profile was at once striking and
disturbing—I’d never seen a vessel that resembled a clog. When
I asked about her appearance later that day, Noah explained that the design
“just kind of came to me.” Realizing that beauty is in the eye
of the beholder, I reserved judgment. I would concentrate my efforts on
Ark’s performance, build, and highly touted layout.

I walked along the fingerslip
next to her, and Noah called down to me from the helm. He noted that the
hull was constructed of triple-planked gopher wood with cotton, Slickseam,
and some really old clay pushed in between the planks to ensure the ocean
would stay where it belongs, at least for 40 days. Cautiously optimistic
about her seaworthiness, I inquired as to what he’d installed in
the way of bilge pumps. Noah pointed to the standard beaver tail passerelle
and motioned that I should step onboard for a closer look.

Once
on the top deck (there are three decks to Ark, each measuring 10
cubits high, or about 15 feet), Noah directed me toward the pilothouse.
From there we took a wicker spiral staircase (you don’t see that
every day) to the bilge. On the way down, I observed what appeared to
be numerous stalls. Curious as a cat, I inquired as to what Noah’s
intentions were for them. He simply explained, “That’s where
we keep the pets.”